What I Learned Looking Out My Back Door

There were no happy creatures dancing on the lawn, as the song says but there were some squirrelly dynamics going on out there.

You know how after Christmas you have leftover cookies that just become more and more stale? Well, I put out a few of them and we had fun watching squirrels sitting up on the table out on the deck. They held the cookies in their little front paws like little kids as they nibbled away. 

Then the cookies, and other assorted stale Christmas leftovers, ran out. So I put our peanuts and we enjoyed watching them shell the nuts and eat.

But peanuts are expensive so I bought shelled corn from Agway and put it out on the table. I learned that squirrels don’t eat the whole corn kernel like horses and cows and deer. They leave bits of corn all over the floor. I also learned that squirrels do not share. 

The table is strewn with corn kernels and one squirrel, my friend JoAnn said he was the Tony Soprano of squirrels, is eating and lording it over the table. He won’t allow anybody to eat with him.  

An Upstart Squirrel comes along and leaps from the deck rail onto the table. Tony flicks his tail madly and rushes the Upstart knocking some corn off the table in the process of scaring away the intruder.

Upstart soon figures out that there is corn on the deck floor and he gets to eat anyhow.  

Tony only thinks he is the lord of his domain. He looks so important out there nibbling away with his tail tucked up across his furry little back. His beady little eyes keep a sharp lookout for Upstarts who are really smarter than good old Tony himself.    

What I Learned In A Letter From France

Roger’s grandfather Irving wrote home to his wife from the trenches in France during WWI. A congratulations card from a friend informed him of his daughter’s birth before the letter came from his wife. He lost most of her letters when his company moved out after a German retreat and the soldiers left most things behind.

She saved his letters. In one of them he sent a beautiful silk and lace handkerchief with the flag of France and the flag of the USA embroidered on it. Under the flags it says, “A souvenir of France.” He says over and over how much he loves her. Sometimes they wrote twice a day.  

Roger remembers him as a man who couldn’t breathe well. His lungs were affected by a gas attack in the trenches. He died when Roger was seven. But he was a real man, who loved his wife and his kids and his country.

My grandmother was a huge formidable woman who hardly smiled. But I’ve seen a picture of her as a tiny thing with huge dark eyes, curling dark hair, and a dimpled smile. As a girl she rode her pony to the edge of her father’s field and then cried when, not matter what she did, the pony turned around and went home.   

In my favorite picture of my father he stands in front on the sidewalk in Clarion, Pa. He wears knee pants like boys wore in the Depression. One of his stocking is up around his calf disappearing into his pants the way it should. The other one drapes around his ankle. He’s holding a little terrier and laughing for all he’s worth.  

These men and women, the trunks and branches of our family tree, were just like us.  They got cold, or scared, or hungry, or happy just like us. They wanted, planned, worked hard, fell in love and got married.

My long line of farmer’s and Roger’s inventors and soldiers and farmers gave my kids the base where they can build who they are and will become. And for me, I feel grateful to take a peek at Roger’s grandpa Irv, who sent his wife a lace hanky, and talked so good naturedly about boiling the lice out of his solider clothes.

What I Learned From Ayden

Ayden came to visit today. He will be two on March 5^th.  Excited to be here, he ran through the kitchen into the dining room, into the living room, and back. He played his version of fetch with my little dog Sammy, happy to throw the ball and then help her chase it. He was delighted that we have a few cars to play with and some Honey Nut Cheerios.  

I want to be more like him. Happy with what I’ve got. Grateful.  Ayden’s too innocent to think we might be making fun of him, or he might look dweeby as he plays.

Lately, weird as it might sound, I’ve imagined Jesus as a guy behind a huge desk ready to write in an appointment book. Of course He is much more than that, but right now, when I am tempted to worry, I imagine me walking into His office. His office is always open. He’s ready to talk to you and me and anybody in Singapore, or Sydney, or Seattle, or Somewhere. He can give us individual attention all at the same time. Pretty cool, huh?

So when I walk into his office, I tell Him what I think the jobs for the next day are. I ask Him to arrange them and to put in whatever He wants. 

Then when I wake up I can run around in my day and be happy, because somebody who really knows how to plan can get it done. He even gives me the talent and energy to do it.   

So when I grow up I want to be like Ayden. He looked like he was having so much fun.  

What I Learned At the Farm ShowbYesterday

Roger is busy right now picking through a box of Clapp family history. The Clapps were inventors, investors, artists, writers. Henry Clay drank lemonade on the porch of Benjamin Clapp’s house in 1840. You can still see the Clapp mansion in Wappinger’s Falls, New York, it’s an apartment house but still grand. Clinton Clapp’s paintings hang in the library, and there is a Clapp Street. 

And while the Clapps were building their name in New York, my family on all sides were raising chickens and cows and crops in Mainsburg Pa, and in Jefferson County, Pa. I come from a long line of farmers. 

Now I am glad, glad, glad, to live in town. I like having neighbors and listening to the swish of cars going by in front of my house.  But when I go to the Farm Show I remember where I’m from. 

I’m from people who milked cows. I’m from a grandpa—the first county agent in Wyoming county, PA—who advised farmers on new and better methods. I’m from a mom who learned to sew first in 4H club. She did it so well she made every semi-formal gown I ever wore, including my wedding dress. 

My sister, brother, cousins, and I used to run all over the Farm Show complex. We were impressed by my grandfather’s blue ribbons for his apples. We were impressed that he knew lots of people and  talked to all of them. But we were most impressed that we got to explore that huge place on our own.  

We discovered cows and sheep. We discovered apples and maple syrup cotton candy. We ran up and down the empty service hallway where somebody might be leading a cow or horse any moment. 

When I stepped into that hallway yesterday with my own grown up kids, I was glad they were at the Farm Show with me. I hoped I passed along something of the farmers in my family and even the inventors and painters and businessmen named Clapp.  

What I Learned About Re-Gifting

 I have a rant about re-gifting. 

Your Aunt Tillie gave you an ugly lamp for Christmas.  Sometime during the year you might think of a tactful way to say, “How about a gift card next year?” 

If you think great Aunt Tillie’s lamp would fit right in with my décor, don’t even hesitate, just bring it on by. Don’t apologize that your great Aunt Tillie gave it to you. Mention it if you want too, but don’t act ashamed of the fact that you are giving an ugly lamp a new home. I love unique lamps. I’m thrilled you thought of me to be the custodian of great Aunt Tillie’s purchase. 

She went to time and trouble to find the thing for you. She missed by a mile thinking you’d like it, but out of respect for her you could deposit it with someone who will get some use out of it. If I get a   modern lamp for Christmas I’ll bring it over to your house.  

It’s also true that people who love you know you work hard to find something they like. They appreciate the thought. But if they don’t like the thing they should pass it on. It’s a crime to let something you don’t like languish.  

If you don’t know anybody that wants great Aunt Tillie’s lamp, there’s always the Salvation Army. Then at least they can use the cash when someone buys the lamp to fund their program for people who need help.

So tomorrow morning if I find six or eight ugly lamps on my porch I’ll know you read this blog and my house is going to be well lit.  And I won’t have to go to the Salvation Army to find my next unique purchase.